


Anthologia

by my_soliloquy_chamber



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Assassin's Creed: Odyssey, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Kissing, Mature in later chapters, Quoted poetry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:20:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29304108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_soliloquy_chamber/pseuds/my_soliloquy_chamber
Summary: "If I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk through my garden forever."The story follows Kassandra and Brasidas through the events of the game and beyond.
Relationships: Brasidas (d. 422 BCE)/Kassandra (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 22





	1. Prelude

* * *

Anthology, from the Greek word, ἀνθολογία ( _anthologia_ ).  
Literally "a collection of blossoms", from ἄνθος, ánthos, flower.

_  
If I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk through my garden forever._

\- Alfred Lord Tennyson

* * *


	2. La Vita Nuova

* * *

_In that book which is my memory,  
on the first page of the chapter   
_ _that is the day when I first met you,  
appear the words;  
“Here begins a new life.”_

\- Dante Alighieri

* * *

_Kassandra_

  
Korinth was beautiful, but the city made Kassandra tense and uncomfortable. With so much of the culture and commerce centered around hetaerae, she couldn’t take more than a few steps without encountering someone who thought she herself was in that trade, or at least should be willing to don that cloak temporarily for some drachme. Most were dissuaded by her glower and angry refusal, and those who weren’t were easily dispatched with her blade, but it was all an uncomfortable reminder of her time on Kephallonia.

On that island, there were far too many residents and visitors who thought serving as a messenger and later a mercenary was not the correct use of an orphaned girl’s time, or body. Thankfully, Markos was not one of them, and he had always staunchly protected, defended and sometimes hidden her when the worst of the entitled _kunops_ hounded her. Even comforted her in that awkward way of his when she sat shaking and crying in a dark corner, thin arms wrapped around her bony knees.

“ _Train harder, little misthios! If you are faster and stronger and better with that spear, you can cut those dogs down when they come after you. And you can sell your sword for drachme! Everybody wins! Except for the dogs, but they will deserve what they get from you then, little misthios._ ” 

She felt the echo of that little shaking girl as she walked through the streets towards the Port of Lechaion where the Monger’s warehouse was supposed to be. She wanted out of this _malakas_ city and all its leering eyes, grasping hands, lewd comments, and she wanted _Phoibe_ out and safe back in Athens even more.

But, of course, she had to do Anthousa a _favour_ first. A big fucking favour of taking out the entire criminal underworld of Korinthia. All so that _malakas_ hetaerae would tell Kassandra what she knew of Myrrine. The information she had better be fucking worth it, which was a tall order considering how many years out of date it was likely to be.

No one _ever_ just answered her questions or gave her what she needed out of kindness or compassion. There were _always_ conditions, favours, drachme for every scrap of _anything_. It was exhausting.

* * *

Kassandra reached the port and made her way cautiously to the warehouse to scout out its surroundings and defenses.

The building wasn’t very well guarded at all. Just a few men stood around the front, casual and inattentive. Not so strange, of course. Why bother when no one in town would dream of interfering with their operations? Even the Spartan soldiers stationed on the wall just beyond the building, _and well within earshot of the caged people screaming for help_ , stood unmoving, backs resolutely turned to the port and the obvious plight of the people of Korinth.

“Fucking Sparta.” Kassandra cursed under her breath as she slipped out from a stack of crates and scaled the façade to enter the warehouse through a window on the upper floor.

Inside, she found crates of weapons, piles of easily sold wares, but most of the space was taken up by slave cages. Thankfully, only a few of them were occupied, and Kassandra made her way around the cavernous room, breaking open the doors and cautioning the occupants to be quiet and run fast. Once they were all free, she lit a torch and set everything flammable on fire. 

On the ground floor, she searched without finding any more occupied cages. There were plenty of crates and wares though, and as she stuck her torch into a pile of rolled up carpets, a shout came from behind. She whipped around to see an angry thug advancing on her. A quick glance around confirmed all her escape routes were blocked, by wares or by more thugs climbing in through the windows.

Kassandra sighed and tossed the torch aside. If they wanted to stay inside the burning building and fight, she could be accommodating. If nothing else, it would give her a chance to work out some of the anxious tension of being in Korinth and the angry frustration at Aspasia for sending Phoibe across Hellas _alone_ , and into this _disgusting_ place.

Four men advanced on her and she pulled her sword and spear free, holding them loosely in her hands. Standing still and ready, she waited for them to make the first move and listened to the roar of the fire on the floor above them, the flames crackling in the wooden beams.

The air was already becoming hazy with smoke and the temperature was rising fast. She would have to make this a quick fight, or she might not make it out before the building fell down or the heat started charring her skin.

Before any of the thugs could make a move towards her, a man fell to the ground between them. For a split second, Kassandra thought he had fallen through the ceiling, fire weakening it to the point of collapse. Then she registered the spear in his chest and the movement of a man stalking up to them.

She and the thugs were equally stunned by this man’s sudden appearance, and they all stared, unmoving as he walked up and ripped his spear from the prone man’s chest.

The newcomer was Spartan, that much was obvious by his uniform and shield. Maybe some form of commander considering his age and the unique tailoring of his armor. He wore an angry scowl on his face as he surveyed the line of thugs in front of him before sliding into a defensive stance and raising his shield.

“Come and get it.”

The words should have sounded taunting, boastful, but from the newcomer they didn’t. Instead they dripped with anger and contempt, an edge of impatience and disappointment at even having to be there.

The thugs didn’t have time to take more than a half-step forward before the Spartan engaged them with brutal efficiency, slamming his shield into one and slicing into the other with the tip of his spear. 

Kassandra stood staring a moment longer until the man raised his shield to protect his head and turned to her with an irritated look that screamed ‘ _Well? Are you just going to stand there?_ ’

She turned and advanced on the nearest thug, seeing a few more of the Monger’s men clambering in through the windows beyond. Above them all, the ceiling creaked ominously and roaring flames licked over the exposed wood. Even with help from the Spartan, she might not finish this fight before they were all buried in burning rubble.

They both fought the thugs with fierce efficiency, but separated, until a lull in the fight allowed a chance to turn to one another. For just a moment, the angry scowl softened and Kassandra saw a glimpse of a pleasant, handsome face behind the pinched brow and curled lips. His eyes were clear and bright, his skin clean, smooth, and practically glowing in the firelight, and the powerful muscles of his thighs shifted enticingly as he took a step towards her.

He looked about to speak when his face and demeanor shifted, raising his spear to lunge at her. Her momentary distraction with his appearance slowed her reflexes and she barely got her sword up to defend herself before his spear was thrust past her and into a man behind her back. Another thug was running up towards the Spartan, sword raised, and Kassandra rolled over her ally’s back to put a blade through him.

The rest of the fight, they fought together. Moving around each other like they had practised it for years. It reminded Kassandra of the festival dances and displays she had seen in Sparta in her early childhood, and she would have marveled at the ease of their collaboration if she’d had time to think.

But the ceiling really was collapsing now and they would have to get out or be buried under burning rubble. Together, they broke down the door to the outside and stepped through, only to be greeted by a new group of thugs.

The fresh air and cool temperature gave them new wind though, letting them fight with renewed vigor until every last thug lay bleeding on the ground.

The stranger looked around for any more men lying in wait and when finding none, walked up to Kassandra and thrust his spear into the ground. “You fight like a Spartan! There’s resolve in you!”

The angry scowl was completely gone from the man’s face now, and Kassandra realized he was younger than she’d first thought. Still several years older than her, but by no means _old_. He wasn’t quite smiling at her, but his eyes were wide and shining with excitement.

“It’s a good thing you showed up, or I might not have finished off all the thugs before the ceiling collapsed.” She gave him a small smile and watched as he stood a little straighter and bowed his head slightly to her. 

“I am Brasidas of Sparta. It’s good to make your acquaintance.” He held out his hand and she grasped it, feeling a tingle of something tickle her palm and fingers where their skin touched.

“Kassandra. Misthios from nowhere in particular.”

When their hands slid apart she saw a shadow fall over his face. “There were innocent people trapped in there, I heard them screaming for help.”

Kassandra tilted her head skeptically. The Spartans hadn’t cared about the slaves before, but this Brasidas seemed sad about their loss now. “Yes. There were innocent people held captive in there. That’s why I freed them first and _then_ set the place on fire.”

Feelings of relief, surprise, and frustration did battle on the Spartan’s face for a moment. “ _You_ set the fire?”

Kassandra nodded and shrugged. “Anthousa hired me to cut off the Monger’s source of income and to free the trapped people.”

“Anthousa hired you?” He pondered that for a moment before continuing. “That’s encouraging, I think. If Anthousa is taking steps against the Monger, then we might finally be able to rally resistance in Korinthia against him.”

It was Kassandra’s turn to be surprised. “Sparta has a Monger problem too?”

* * *

They stood by the docks for a long while, discussing the Monger and the problems Brasidas encountered in getting rid of him.

She found herself encouraging him to speak, asking questions and probing for information about things she really didn’t care about. She just wanted to continue to stand there, listening to the pleasant rumble of his voice that vibrated through her spine and settled warm and glowing in her stomach. His wide, honeyed eyes were bright and direct, meeting hers without hesitation. His skin, even when covered in soot and splatters of blood, looked smooth, warm, and silky and she wanted to taste it. Press her lips to his throat and her tongue into the dip between his collarbones. His lower lip had a shine to it, as if he’d just licked it, and it drew her gaze over and over, making her bite her own lip to stop herself doing something stupid.

Kassandra found herself deeply distracted and shook herself, struggling back to focus and listen to what Brasidas was saying.

He was strange, for a Spartan. All of his attempts so far had revolved around empowering the people of Korinthia to stand up to and get rid of the Monger themselves. He wanted the people to want to fight for and demand their own peace and freedom from terror, rather than have Sparta swoop in and solve the problem for them.

Even now, when he felt he had exhausted all other avenues but violence, did he want a minimal amount of bloodshed. Remove the problem of the Monger discreetly, and then move on and rebuild what had been destroyed by the thug’s rein.

Kassandra admitted that she liked his approach much better than Anthousa’s. She didn’t really care if the hetaerae’s method caused a riot, like Brasidas worried it would. It was the blatant cowardice of Anthousa’s plan she didn’t care for. The hetaerae wanted to publicly kill the Monger only after Kassandra had rendered him defenseless, harmless. Anthousa wanted a _show_. A show that starred herself as the one to land the killing blow and thus liberating Korinthia. All without accepting any risk to her own person at all.

Brasidas, on the other hand, was just a frustrated man who was finally allowed to voice all of his opinions on the situation and articulate his reasoning to a willing audience. He was not trying to hire her or influence her actions. He didn’t even know that Anthousa had hired Kassandra to take out the Monger and his entire operation. But he _was_ , unknowingly, offering a compelling alternative to Anthousa’s plan and Kassandra saw no reason not to take it.

When they finally parted ways, she stayed standing by the water and looked after him as he walked away. The final touch of his hand to hers still buzzed over her skin and she watched his body move smoothly with every step he took. His gilded armor glinted in the sunlight and she wondered what he looked like underneath, if he would have let her find out had she made an attempt. 

It wasn’t until he disappeared out of sight that she remembered where she was and what she needed to do. The quicker she killed the Monger, the quicker she could get out of Korinth. _And_ get Phoibe out too.

* * *

It wasn’t yet dark when Kassandra stalked through the streets of Korinth to report back to Anthousa. No one mistook her for a hetaerae this time, instead the people avoided her and held their noses as she passed.

The smoke from the warehouse still clung to her clothes, skin, and hair, she was splattered and smeared with blood and dirt, as well as the contents of more than one man’s intestines.

It was _disgusting_ and she wanted nothing more than to wring Anthousa’s neck for making her do this malakas crap just for some information on her mater.   
  


The hetaerae balked at the sight of her when Kassandra stepped into her richly adorned rooms and announced the Monger’s demise.

Anthousa started to protest when she realized the Monger was dead and thus not available for her _show_ , but Kassandra cut her off with a wave of her hand, sending splatters of red and brown over the delicate silks and tasteful artwork in the room.

“Enough. I don’t care. He and his goons are dead and you owe me some fucking answers. Tell me where my mater is, Anthousa, or I’ll put you down like a fucking dog. I am far too angry and tired for you to trifle with me anymore.”

She shook her fist in the hetaerae’s face and felt a wave of savage pleasure when a bit of hairy scalp landed in the woman’s hair. “His body is in that fucking cave. Do whatever you want with it, but do it _after_ you give me what I’m _owed_.”

Anthousa wisely decided not to argue and gave up the paltry information she had. Kassandra’s blood boiled when she realized how utterly _useless_ what she had to offer really was.  
“Seriously? _Seriously!?_ You think telling me that she got a hold of a ship _more than 10 years ago_ is helpful to me?! You think telling me she could be _anywhere in or beyond Hellas_ is worth me taking down the fucking Monger and all of his goons for you!? What’s _wrong_ with you!?”

She reached out a hand and sent a tall shelf to the floor, scrolls and delicate figurines flying everywhere. With a powerful kick, fueled by her rage, she sent a heavy desk into the wall, cracking the wood and indenting the plaster.

“You better find a way to repay me, Anthousa. I don’t work for free.”

She was towering over the other woman, growling her demand into her face and Anthousa ducked away and scrambled over to the broken desk, searching through the debris on the floor until she found a large coin purse and small gilded box stuffed full of jewelry.

Kassandra snatched the offering out of the woman’s shaking hands and ignored the halting words of apology that followed her out the door. 

* * *

Everyone always had conditions and demanded favours, but they usually had something of roughly equal value to give her in return, except of course, for the rare few who tried to cheat her out of her payment entirely. This was by far the worst and dumbest attempt at such a cheat she’d ever encountered, and it baffled her that Anthousa had thought she would be getting away with it.

“I mean, honestly! What did she _think_ was going to happen?”

She had gone straight to find Phoibe, and together they had spend the rest of the afternoon heating and carrying water for a bath and the laundry. Now, the young girl was scrubbing at Kassandra’s blood and shit stained armor, while Kassandra sat in a tub and tried to get all the blood, soot, and bits of wood and bone out of her hair.

Phoibe was frowning, maybe at the stain, or maybe at Kassandra’s anger. The child wasn’t used to her being this angry, and for so long. It had been hours, and Kassandra just couldn’t seem to let it go and move on.

“I don’t know… maybe she’s so used to people giving _her_ expensive things in exchange for _her_ time that she doesn’t understand the real value of what she has to offer someone who doesn’t care about her _favours_.”

Kassandra nodded slowly. “Yeah, that might make sense.” Then she paused and raised an eyebrow at Phoibe. “What do you know about Anthousa’s _favours_?”

The girl gave her a skeptical look and rolled her eyes. “We’re in Korinth. How do you think I know? Besides, I work for Aspasia and everyone in Athens talks about how her _favours_ let her rise from being hetaerae to the partner of Perikles. I’d have to be _stupid_ to not understand that.”

* * *

It was late in the evening by the time they were done. The gear and clothes were hung to dry and the bath was emptied and scrubbed clean. Kassandra sat on a bench just outside their room, wrapped in a linen towel, untangling her wet hair and letting the breeze dry it. Phoibe was laying just inside, fast asleep, sprawled face first on the sleeping mat where she had dropped down, exhausted after all the lugging of water and scrubbing of laundry.

Kassandra gave the child a fond smile and focused back on the tangles in her hair. She could hear the sounds of Korinth in the dark beyond the light from her lamp. There were celebrations all around the city tonight. In another place she might have joined them, but tonight she was tired, still angry with Anthousa, and still found the city and its inhabitants disquieting. Besides, she had Phoibe to watch over.

“Kassandra?” She looked up and saw Brasidas standing just inside the ring of light from her lamp.

“Brasidas! What are you doing here?” She smiled at him and waved him over, but he stopped short after just one step.

“I wanted to come and share… but you are busy. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.” His eyes swept quickly over her body which the towel was struggling to cover before he bowed lightly and averted his gaze. She could see his cheeks had turned red even in the dim light.

She stopped him before he could turn and walk away. “Brasidas. You are not intruding. Please, sit. What did you want to share?”

He hesitated a moment longer but then moved forward and sat down on the bench. He glanced inside the open door where the legs of the sleeping child were visible.

“That’s Phoibe, I’m escorting her to Athens in the morning. Don’t worry, she’s dead to the world.”

Brasidas looked into her eyes and stared quietly for a moment, seemingly forgetting why he was there. Then he shook his head and looked down at his feet. “You, ah. You killed the Monger. I brought wine. To… celebrate.” He held up the jug he’d brought and gave an awkward smile.

She smiled back at him. He seemed so different from down by the port. Awkward and tongue tied, and his eyes kept straying to where her towel was fastened in a loose, tucked fold. “That is very kind of you, Brasidas. Let me fetch us some cups.”

Standing up, she slipped inside the room and out of sight. Dropping the towel, she quickly pulled on her spare chiton and plucked two cups from a shelf. Brasidas had placed the jug down on the bench and sat with his elbows on his knees, staring at his hands.

He looked up at the sound of her bare feet on the flat stone and she saw a wave of relief wash through him when he took in her state of dress, and she bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself laughing. She didn’t think she’d ever met such a prim and proper Spartan before. Usually they were just brash and brutish, and _loud_. Of course, she spent very little time with Spartans generally, so she really wasn’t a good judge.

Setting the cups down next to the jug, she watched him as he poured the wine. His hands looked strong, capable. They were calloused from his weapons, but the fingers were long and nimble, the skin and cuticles clean, the nails trimmed. Kassandra swallowed and pushed the thoughts away before they could veer into dangerous territory, and instead picked up one of the cups. 

Taking a sip, she found the wine to be very pleasant. Sweet without being cloying, dry without being rough, it tasted clear and clean and it made her hum appreciatively.

Looking up, she saw Brasidas watching her. “Do you like it? It’s Korinthian.”

She smiled, nodding and took another sip. He seemed to relax at that and smiled back, taking a drink of his own. After a pause he spoke, voice pitched low. Perhaps to avoid waking Phoibe. “So… you already killed the Monger. You work fast.”

Kassandra gave him a wry smile and leaned back against the wall. “There didn’t seem to be any reason to wait. He needed to be dealt with, might as well get it done.”

Brasidas grimaced and shook his head. “You didn’t have to do it, though. I hope I didn’t give you the impression that I was… ordering you to kill him. My men and I would have taken care of it.”

She shrugged. “It’s what Anthousa hired me to do.”

He looked up at her, appalled. “Anthousa hired you to take out the Monger? _Alone_?”

“Well… yes. But I think she wanted me to work up to that. First do a few more things like the warehouse until he was weakened, in appearance if nothing else, and _then_ deliver him to her for her little _show_. But you gave me a better alternative, so I took it.” She winked at him and raised her cup in salut.

He stared at her and she shrugged again. “I didn’t feel like spending more time than necessary. I just wanted what I came for so I could move on. I don’t like Korinth.”

“What did you come for?”

“Information. I’m trying to find my mater and Anthousa was supposed to have something helpful.”

“And did she?”

Kassandra snorted and tossed back the rest of her wine. She poured herself another cup while she spoke and kept her eyes on the task, hoping the burn of frustrated, disappointed tears would subside before Brasidas saw them. “According to Anthousa, my mater won a ship in a game and sailed away. That was well over 10 years ago.”

She drained her second cup of wine and filled it again.

“That’s it? She wanted you to whittle away at the Monger’s organisation, sources of income and defenses, and then deliver him for a public execution in exchange for her telling you that _she doesn’t know anything_?” He cursed under his breath and drained his own cup. “I’m sorry. What will you do now?”

“Athens. They have a large, busy port. Maybe someone remembers something about the ship.”

He nodded and put his cup down on the bench to refill it. “I wish there was something I could do to help.”

Kassandra laughed softly. “Unlikely, I’m afraid. Sparta is the last place she’d be.” He looked at her quizzically and she laughed again, hollow and bitter. “My mater is Myrrine of Sparta, daughter of the _great_ King Leonidas. Not that _that_ connection ever did anyone any good.”

Brasidas spilled the wine he was pouring and cursed softly, setting the jug down. His eyes were wide with confusion and disbelief. “That’s… that’s not possible. _You’re_ Myrrine’s daughter? _That_ Kassandra?”

“Yup!” She drained her wine again and pointed at him. “And _you_ probably know my pater. _The Wolf of Sparta._ Seems he got an impressive promotion after he murdered me.”

She reached for the jug but he stopped her, grimacing. “Maybe you’ve had enough for now.”

Kassandra glowered at him. “I’m not drunk, Brasidas. I’m bitter. Give me my wine.”

He nodded and poured for her, a dazed look coming over his face. “But he didn’t murder you.”

She shook her finger at him. “Intent matters, Brasidas. And he _intended_ to murder me.”

He shook his head. “No, I mean… you survived! _How?_ Where did you go?”

“Kephallonia. The island of dust, goats, and monotony.”

* * *

Somehow, he got her to talk about her childhood on the island, telling him about how she had trained to be a misthios, about what a strange and bumbling ally Markos was, and how she escaped, gaining her ship and her freedom from that place.

By the time she got to the Cyclops and meeting Barnabas, her mood was light again and Brasidas was wiping tears from his cheeks, trying to compose himself. 

“I cannot believe you stuck it into a _goat_!” She grinned wide at him and he grinned back, eyes shining in the lamplight.

The wind had picked up and blew a few strands of her hair across her face. Kassandra reached up to move them away, but Brasidas beat her to it, stroking the strands from her skin and tucking them behind her ear. Then he froze, hand still by her ear, almost cupping her face.

They stared into each other’s eyes and Kassandra saw Brasidas’ pupils grow large and felt herself become warm. He moved in slowly, dream-like, and she stared down at his mouth. The plump bottom lip glistened faintly and she licked her own lips. Feeling his palm cup her face gently, she leaned into the warm touch.

When his lips finally touched hers, she let out an involuntary moan and her eyes slid closed. The tingle she had felt when their hands touched was stronger now, spreading from her mouth deep into her body and she moved in closer. The press of his lips was soft, sweet, but she wanted more, wanted to taste him. She licked at the seam of his lips and he opened for her with a soft moan of his own.

Brasidas tasted like wine, and maybe faintly of olives, but mostly he just tasted… _good._ She still held her empty, forgotten cup, but her free hand slid up to clutch at his bicep. The movement spurred Brasidas to bury his free hand in her damp hair, clutching her tight and close, deepening the kiss.

They both moaned, the loud in the dark and secluded alleyway, and lust washed over Kassandra at the sound, settling deep down in her stomach. She was just about to toss her cup away and move to straddle Brasidas’ legs when she heard a burst of snorting giggles behind them.

Brasidas ripped his mouth free from hers, startled, and Kassandra let her head thunk down on his shoulder. Pressing her face into his throat, she let out a loud, frustrated groan. “Phoibe…”

The hand in her hair slid free and Brasidas’ warm body moved away from her. “I should go…”

She nodded and they stood up. “I’m sorry, I don’t want you to go, but…”

“...it’s for the best.” He finished for her.

They looked at each other, awkward and disappointed, then Brasidas straightened his spine. “Yes, right. Goodnight, Kassandra. I do hope you find your mater.”

She stopped him from turning away with a hand on his cheek and pressed her lips to his. “I hope we meet again soon, Brasidas.”

He lifted her hand away from his cheek and kissed it, giving her a light bow. “Soon, Kassandra.”

Then he was gone from the circle of light and Kassandra turned and stomped back into the room. “Why do you have to be such a _pain,_ Phoibe?”

The girl was still giggling, her face buried in a pillow. Kassandra dropped down onto her own sleep mat and stared sullenly at the ceiling. She heard Phoibe’s muffled giggles grow clearer as the girl lifted her head from the pillow. “I bet you wouldn’t mind getting _favours_ from him!”

The giggling grew even louder and Kassandra gritted her teeth. “And I bet he wouldn’t mind having your _favours_ too!”

Kassandra sighed and rolled over, pressing a pillow to her head. It was true, though. She _liked_ Brasidas, a lot. She did want his _favours_ and give him hers in return. Except it wasn’t favours, was it? Brasidas hadn’t asked her for anything. No demands, no conditions, _no_ _favours_.

He had just brought her some wine.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem at the beginning is from the foreword of Dante Alighieri‘s book La Vita Nuova. Sort of. It’s actually from a Star Trek episode and they took some, eh, liberties with the translation. But I like this version so that’s what you get.
> 
> My ficlet “Smitten” takes place between their meeting at the warehouse and their meeting at night, in case you want a little insight into Brasidas’ mind.
> 
> Obviously, I have taken liberties with the timelines, dialogue, and how and what happened compared to the game. Though, personally, I think the biggest liberty was taken by Ubisoft when they assumed the people freed from the cages in the Monger’s warehouse would be capable of running to safety. Anyone who’s played this game knows that freed captives always run towards any available enemies and always stick close by the area they were held. So, you know... freed or not, those idiots would have burned.


	3. It’s no use

* * *

_It’s no use. Mother Dear,  
I can’t finish my weaving.  
_ _You may blame Aphrodite.  
_ _Soft as she is.  
_ _She’s almost killed me with love for that boy [sic]._

\- Sappho

* * *

_Brasidas_

  
Brasidas walked quickly through the dark streets of Korinth, biting the inside of his cheek and digging the nails of his fingers into his palm, desperate to quell his erection and regain control of himself before he reached the camp.

It hadn’t been his intention to share anything other than wine and conversation with Kassandra when he sought her out. Really. He had just wanted to see her again, to talk with her, get to know her. At the port, he had done almost all of the talking and so hadn’t learned much more than her name.

So, no, it hadn’t been his _intention_ to do more than share his wine with her, but that kiss…

Brasidas did not make a habit of falling into bed with women he barely knew, but he was sure that had been where they had been heading when the sleeping girl woke up.

He had never before experienced a kiss that was so overwhelming, so arousing, and that escalated so quickly.

He could still feel the light press of her lips against his neck. The touch had been so fleeting, accidental. Not a kiss but simply hiding her face in frustration when the young Phoibe had interrupted them. Still… he felt the ghost of Kassandra’s lips of his neck, and shivered.

It was no good, his head was filled with images of her smile, the sound of her voice, the scent of her hair, the taste of her lips. His erection refused to subside even now as he neared the camp just inside the city’s wall. Not wanting to walk through the lit camp with his problem on display, Brasidas ducked into a dark alley and hid behind a large shrub. Pressing his hand to his mouth and his forehead into rough stone, he slipped his free hand into his perizoma and squeezed himself.

He let the image of Kassandra wrapped in her towel fill his mind, and imagined it slipping loose just the way he hard feared it would when he found her on that bench. In his fantasy, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close, kissing her deeply.

He let the sound of her moans between their pressed lips ring in his ears, and before long, he spilled himself into the shrubbery with a muffled groan.

Quickly composing himself, Brasidas slipped back out to the street and continued to the camp, cheeks burning red with embarrassment at his lack of control.

* * *

_Kassandra_

  
Early the next morning, Kassandra packed their things into Phobos’ saddlebags, and rode them to the Port of Kechries. Phoibe sat at her back, chatting excitedly about Korinth and Athens, Aspasia and Anthousa, even comparing the Monger to their Kephallonian Cyclops.

Kassandra barely paid attention and answered the girl’s questions half-heartedly. She was distracted through most of the ride, jerking slightly at every glimpse of Spartan red and gold, childishly hoping it was Brasidas she was seeing each time.

Of course, it was never him, and before long they arrived in Kechries.

The Adrestia sat patiently in the harbour, bobbing with the gentle waves. Barnabas welcomed them with his usual enthusiasm, and Kassandra left him to show Phoibe around while she went around the docks, asking if anyone had heard of the Siren Song or the woman who commanded it.

* * *

It didn’t take them long at all to sail across the bay to the Port of Piraeus and Kassandra stood staring back at Korinthia as it shrank away on the horizon. Barnabas was entertaining Phoibe with wild stories from his days at sea and Herodotus trying to temper the stories with suggestions of what might really have happened.

Kassandra was distracted again. She had nothing to do until they docked the ship, but instead of thinking of finding her mater, her thoughts strayed back to Korinth and Brasidas.

She could still feel the ghost of his lips on hers, the tingle of his touch on her skin. The night before, when she was lying with her pillow pressed to her ear, trying to drown out Phoibe’s giggles, she had been so tempted to run after Brasidas. To pull him into a dark corner and finish what they had begun. But the day caught up with her and washed her consciousness away on a wave of exhaustion.

Her dreams had been strange, and still clung to her even now. Kissing Brasidas, smiling, familiar, with muffled laughter before they broke apart and slipped away. Watching him speak to a woman her dream told her was Myrrine. Watching him speak to Nikolaos. Her head resting on his chest, listening to his heartbeat and steady breathing. Standing wrapped tight in his arms, his hand cupping her head, holding her close.

She had woken up with that tingling feeling where the dream Brasidas had been pressed to her.

Kassandra wanted to find her mater, that was her single goal which she would not be distracted from. But she couldn’t deny that now, she wanted to find Brasidas as well. They had started something when they met at the warehouse, she could feel it in her bones.

* * *

Phoibe janking on her hand and calling her name pulled Kassandra out of her reverie. They were sliding into port and her crew were readying themselves to dock the ship.

“Well? Can I?” She looked at the girl with confusion, and Phoibe bounced lightly on the balls of her feet. “Join your crew? It would be great, I could help out with lots of things and we could travel together!”

She gripped the young girl’s shoulder and smiled. “You are too young, Phoibe. Crewing on a ship is heavy, hard work and very dangerous too. If you want to serve on this crew, you need to train to be stronger, to be a fighter.”

“I am strong! I am a fighter!” The girl punched the air and Kassandra laughed. In a swift move, she scooped the girl up and threw her over one shoulder, carrying her like a sack of wheat. 

“No, Phoibe. I am a fighter, you are a little child who needs to train and grow up, just like I did.”

She carried the girl off the ship with a wave to her crew and started towards Athens proper. Phoibe struggled weakly and giggled loudly, until they both grew tired of the game and Kassandra set her back down on her feet.

Together they walked towards the city center and Perikles’ house. The city seemed more subdued since last she’d been there, the streets less crowded and bustling. More people seemed to be begging as well, sitting or laying next to the buildings staring with hollow eyes. Or maybe it was the same, but usually the crowds hid them from her eyes. Kassandra didn’t dwell on it, she was only here to deliver Phoibe safe, nothing else.

When they got closer to Perikles’ house, the girl stopped talking about sailing and her adventures going to Korinth. “Will you stay? Here in Athens, I mean.”

The child was glancing up at her, face carefully neutral.

“No, I have to find my mater. I’m only dropping you off with Aspasia and then I’m leaving again. You’ll be safe with her as long as you don’t let her send you off on some other dangerous mission.”

Phoibe bit her lips and frowned. “Don’t be mad at Aspasia, Kassandra, please? I _wanted_ to go, and Korinth isn’t so bad. Everyone was really nice.”

Kassandra sighed and stopped walking. Kneeling down, she took gentle hold of the girl’s shoulders. “You were _lucky_ , Phoibe. That’s why nothing bad happened to you. Aspasia is an adult and she should have known better than to send you out of Athens alone. There’s a war, Phoibe. Korinthia is an enemy of Athens. It’s dangerous to travel for everyone, but especially for someone with connections to Perikles.”

Phoibe was still biting her lip and stared at the ground, but nodded her head. Standing back up, Kassandra took the girl’s hand and held it while they walked the rest of the way.

* * *

Aspasia wasn’t there when they arrived and Kassandra gritted her teeth in irritation. She really wanted to talk to the woman and impress upon her the importance of not putting Phoibe in unnecessary danger, but she also didn’t want to stick around Athens to wait for her to return.

If she stayed, she would inevitably be roped into running errands or going on missions for her friends in the city, delaying her search even longer. Saying no to their requests made her uncomfortable and threatened to burn the bridges she had built to those friends, so she preferred to leave before any of them knew she was there.

Crouching down, she gave Phoibe a hug and told her, _again,_ not to let Aspasia send her into danger. She left the girl behind at the opulent house in the care of its servants and went back to the Port of Piraeus.

She walked from ship to ship, asking if anyone had seen or heard of a ship called Siren Song. A few made her pay for what turned out to be vague and outdated information, but most people only shook their heads and shooed her away when she asked.

It was late in the evening when she returned to the ship, tried, hungry, and despondent. Herodotus was sitting on the benches by the helm, carefully writing on his papyrus in the light from the brasier. 

Kassandra grabbed some food from the shipstores and joined him. He glanced up at her when she sat down, but held up a hand to stall any conversation. Instead, she watched in silence as he painted his words on the papyrus and sequined at the text trying to read it upside down.

Finally, Herodotus finished and looked up at her with an apologetic smile. “I find it important to always finish writing the thought I had. Otherwise I risk not remembering what I intended to say and have wasted the ink and papyrus.”

Kassandra nodded and swallowed the food she was chewing. “Sounds reasonable. What are you writing about?”

The old man shrugged and put away his tools. “Nothing terribly important. Only some observations on ships, ports, and seafaring. How did your search go? Did you find anyone who knew of your mater’s ship?”

Kassandra’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “How did you know about that?”

She should have told them, of course, but she had been so preoccupied on the short trip from Korinthia. 

“Phoibe told us, of course. She said Anthousa had made you work very hard for the information she had, and that you were very angry when you found out how little she knew.”

Kassandra snorted and shook her head. “She’s right about that. I was _very_ angry. But still, I’m sorry I ignored you. Where is Barnabas?”

Herodotus smiled that soft, understanding smile of his and nodded. “Don’t worry yourself, Phoibe kept us both entertained and informed. Barnabas is at the Tavern, where he’s been since you left. Making contacts he says, but I suspect it’s mostly wine.”

They smirked at each other. Barnabas’ love of wine was no secret, and it was rivaled only by his love of telling wild stories to a captive audience.

“Eagle Bearer!” Barnabas stood on deck, as if summoned from thin air by their words. “It seems your mater turned to piracy!” 

He swaggered up the steps to the helm, feet much steadier than they had any right to be after so many hours of drinking. He stopped in front of them, hands on his hips, and grinned wide.

“What are you talking about?” 

“Your little friend told us that your mater disappeared from Korintiha on a ship called Siren Song, so I went to the tavern and spoke to the other old sea dogs.”

“And they told you she was a pirate?” Kassandra looked at him with a skeptical frown.

He stretched and sat down on the bench. “Well… the people who remember anything of the Siren Song say they know it as a pirate ship. If your mater was on it while it pirated… that I don’t know.”

Kassandra stared into the flames of brasier while the men continued speaking. Their voices sounded muffled and far away. The information Barnabas brought could mean anything. Was her mater a pirate? Had she been attacked by pirates who stole her ship? Was she even alive?”

“... so we should leave as soon as possible.” 

She interrupted the conversation happening at her side.“ What do we do with this information?”

Barnabas rubbed his chin with a thoughtful but mischievous look. “We go talk to the pirates, I suppose.”

* * *

_Brasidas_

  
Brasidas stared at the parchment in front of him. Sparta was giving him new orders. Cnemus, the Naval Commander, was failing and he was being sent to _assist._ It was ridiculous of course, he had no experience with naval warfare, and there was no reason to assume he would do any better than Cnemus.

That wasn’t what had given him pause though. It was the simple, almost offhand mention of Athens that had stolen his focus.

The siege was working. A plague had spread through the city. Athens was weakening.

Athens, where Kassandra had been heading. The streets full of dead and dying people, maybe one of them _her._ He clenched his jaw. No, she was looking for her mater, who had a _ship_. She would have left Athens quickly in her search, surely?

“General?” 

He looked up. Callias was standing on the other side of the table, flanked by the other commanders, waiting for him to tell them what the missive from Sparta contained.

“Is the news... bad?”

Brasidas shook his head. “No. Not bad. I’ve been posted to aid the Naval Fleet. I leave in the morning. Captain Callias, you have command in Korinthia until another General is dispatched.”

Callias bowed and the men left the tent. When alone, Brasidas sighed and shook his head. Naval warfare. It was Sparta’s weakness, and now it was apparently time to paint him with that heavy, wet, damning brush. This could well be the end of his military career.

But, who knew… maybe he would stumble upon some information of the Siren Song. Or maybe, _maybe_ he would encounter Kassandra and her ship out at sea.

* * *

  
_Kassandra_

  
The Pirate controlled island Keos was a couple of days away and Kassandra spent most of it worrying. About her mater and what had happened to her. About Phoibe and whether she was safe in Athens with Aspasia. She even worried about Brasidas for no good reason at all. Mostly though, she worried about her crew. They were sailing into pirate-infested waters and there was no reason to assume they would be left in peace.

As a precautionary measure, she ordered the crew who were not busy steering or rowing to stay on deck. She had them all sparring, wrestling, or sharpening their blades in an attempt to make them appear more numerous and intimidating than they actually were.

Despite the precautions, they ended up in more than one fight. They won each time, but she lost some good people and several more were injured. By the time they slid into port at Koressa, Kassandra was tense and an angry headache pulsed behind her brow.

Her mood did not improve at all when she stepped off the ship with Barnabas in tow. The city in front of them was in shambles, many of the buildings nothing but smoking ruins. The scent of burning bodies hung in the air, almost but not quite masking the pungent stench of decomposing corpses.

It truly was a horrific place, and Kassandra couldn’t fathom why her mater would have chosen _this_ over Korinthia. It made her all the more certain that her mater had lost the ship and maybe her life to pirates, and if that were the case, Kassandra would find out who and _end them._

They looked around the harbor. A few other ships lay docked, and several people scattered around the area stood looking at them with suspicious interest. Barnabas cleared his throat and clapped her on the shoulder. “I’ll check at the Tavern, and you can go inquire at the ships.”

Kassandra nodded and walked over to the nearest person, a man in a ragged, dirty tunic who stood inspecting a length of rope. He scowled and spat at her feet before she could even open her mouth. 

“Fuck off.” Lifting her hands in placation, she tried to speak but was interrupted. “I _said,_ fuck off!”

She sighed and turned away, moving further down the dock. Every encounter was basically the same, no one would to talk and the few who would didn’t know anything.

From the corner of her eye, Kassandra saw a group of pirates moving in her direction. They were casual, walking slowly and chatting about mundane inconsequential things, but their hands were resting by their weapons and their eyes stared without straying. 

Kassandra suddenly broke into a sprint and darted in between two buildings. Behind her she could hear the group curse, then running footsteps as they tried to catch up. Slipping around another corner, she quickly scaled the building and crouched down on the roof.

The group of pirates were right on her tail, but stopped in confusion when they rounded the corner. “Malaka! Where did she go!?”

Their voices were partially drowned out by the wind and the seagulls calling above them, but she could make out snippets. They didn’t like outsiders snooping around, they wanted to bring her to their leader, the leader would be angry if they found out the attempt to capture her had failed. She thought she heard the word _xenia_ several times, but couldn’t make sense of it, since they had not exhibited _any_ signs of hospitality _at all._ Perhaps it was code for something.

The group finally gave up, walking away, and Kassandra jumped down from the roof. If they were this distrusting of outsiders, Barnabas might be in more trouble than he could handle. She set off in the direction her Captain had headed, keeping to alleys and shadows. 

* * *

Finding the tavern turned out to be easy. The sound of music and rowdy voices grew louder the closer she got.

Peeking inside the open courtyard, she saw Barnabas seated at a table in the middle, kylix raised high as he sang along with the other patrons. He acted happy and at ease, but his good eye was swelling shut and blood was smeared under his nose.

He exclaimed in the delight when she sank down on the stool next to his and he wrapped his free arm around her shoulders. “Kassandra! Here you are! Have some wine!”

The arm over her shoulders was stiff and his hand squeezed her bicep in warning, but his face betrayed nothing. Playing along, she smiled gratefully and took a drink from his kylix. 

“You look like you’ve had fun, Captain.” She raised an eyebrow and nodded towards his bloodied face.

“This?” He gestured at himself with the kylix before taking another drink. “It’s nothing! Just a misunderstanding between myself and my new friends here.”

She glanced around and saw the amused faces of the other patrons, their smiles sharp and glinting like knives in the low light. Snorting loudly, she grabbed the kylix back from Barnabas and set it down on the table with a heavy thunk. “If they were your friends, they would have punched the other side of your face.”

Her comment sparked uproarious laughter from the crowd and she used their distraction to pull Barnabas to his feet and started leading him out of the tavern. Throwing a small coin purse on the table she called over her shoulder. “Have another round on me while I take my _dear_ Captain back to his ship before he goes blind.”

The two of them made a show of Barnabas being almost too drunk to walk, stumbling and leaning heavily on Kassandra and the roakus laughter pressed against their backs as they walked back to the ship.

Once well out of sight and earshot, they eased up on their charade, but Kassandra kept a guiding hand on her Captain’s shoulder, mindful of his bruised, swelling eye.

“Did you at least learn anything useful?”

Barnabas burped loudly and nodded. “Excuse me. Yes. Xenia.”

“Now I know you’re drunk. Punching your guests is the _opposite_ of xenia, Barnabas.”

He shook his head and hiccupped. “Ugh, that was _bad_ wine. I feel sick. But no, not _xenia._ Xenia. She’s their leader. Keeps track of everyone and everything. If your mater of her ship came through here, then Xenia knows about it.”

They reached the Adrestia and Barnabas bent double, emptying his stomach into the water before climbing aboard.

Herodotus greeted them with alarm, taking the Captain’s elbow and leading him up the steps to sit by the helm. “What happened?”

Barnabas burped again, waving a hand in front of his face to dispel the foul smell. “Nothing. Nothing. Bad wine.”

Herodotus looked to Kassandra, who shrugged. “Bad wine and pirate _hospitality._ I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

She waved a hand in front of Barnabas face. “Hey, focus. Did they say where I can find this Xenia?”

He nodded, but let his head drop between his knees. Another foul burp erupted. “She stays in the temple. Athena.” Then he shot from his seat and threw up over the railing.

Herodotus got to his feet and stood by his friend, hand rubbing circles on his back. “Go, Kassandra. The sooner you find this Xenia, the sooner we can leave this place.”

She looked up at the temple standing at the very top of the city. The sun was setting and she should be able to make it up there without being seen by the angry pirates. Question was, how would she get this Xenia to talk once she found her?

* * *

She kept out of sight by way of the rooftops, jumping and climbing above everyone’s heads whenever possible. A group of pirates standing in the middle of a street just a little too wide to jump across stopped her. Their torches lit a large circle and she needed to find a detour to avoid them.

Searching for an alleyway where she could climb down unnoticed made her freeze in her tracks. Below, a small lantern lit up a bench where two people sat speaking with low voices. She watched as one, a bearded man, lifted his hand and gently cupped the other’s face, turning it towards him as he leaned in for a kiss. The object of his affections wound their arms around the man’s neck, deepening the kiss.

Kassandra was completely transfixed watching their kiss, both tender and passionate, and wondered if that’s what she had looked like with Brasidas. She stayed, crouched on the rooftop in the dark, watching the couple’s intimate moment until they broke apart and disappeared inside the house.

_That could have been us. That could have been me, dragging Brasidas by the hand into my bed._

She was not angry with Phoibe, but she found herself wishing, again, that Aspasia hadn’t sent the girl to Korinth. If she hadn’t been there, they could have… 

Kassandra shook herself. She was being ridiculous. Brasidas was _just_ a man. She had bedded plenty of men before. She had _not_ bedded even more, so why was she so hung up on this Spartan?

Dropping down into the new empty alley, she continued towards the temple and the mysterious Xenia.

* * *

No guards were waiting outside the temple, but Kassandra heard a commotion from inside. Raised voices and things breaking. Then the doors burst open and the body of a man flew out and landed in the dirt at her feet. 

Unbidden, the memory of the warehouse came to her. A man landing at her feet, spear quivering in his chest, and Brasidas emerging out of the smoke.

“Who are you?”

Kassandra jerked a little and looked up from the body on the ground. The woman in front of her was tall. Really tall. She stood with her arms crossed, glaring and impatient for an answer to her question. “Are you Xenia?”

The woman frowned deeper. “Who. Are. You.”

“Kassandra.”

“Well, _Kassandra,_ tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right here.”

“I need information, and I was told you might have what I need.”

The woman tilted her head and looked Kassandra up and down. “Sneaking into my city is a strange way to make a first impression.”

“I needed to speak to you, and your pirates didn’t give the impression that they would let me if given the choice.”

Xenia nodded in agreement. “You are right, they would not. So, speak. What do you want from me?”

“I’m looking for a woman who fled Sparta when I was a child. She acquired a ship named Siren Song some years ago, and I’ve heard rumors that she, or at least the ship, has been engaged in piracy.”

The pirate scrutinized her silently a while before speaking. “Who is this woman to you?”

“She is my mater. I haven’t seen her since she was a child.”

Xenia nodded thoughtfully. “I have information for you. For a price.”

Kassandra sighed. “Of course. _Everything has a price._ So what do _you_ want? Should I sink every ship in the Agean? End the war? Bring you the head of some mythological beast from the end of the world?”

The pirate stared at her deadpan and unamused. Kassandra deflated. “I’m sorry. I _just_ want to find my mater and everyone keeps sending me off on ridiculous errands that just eat up time, but they never have any good, solid, recent information on where she is. I don’t even know if _you_ have any decent information.” She gestured angrily at the woman before her and then fell silent, both angry and bashful. 

“I know of Myrrine and for a price, I will tell you what I know.”

“Myrrine…?” The pirate knew her mater’s _name._ None of the other people she had met on her search knew that much. “You _do_ know her. What’s the price?”

“15 000 drachme.”

Kassandra waited for the rest and when the woman remained silent she shook her head, bewildered. “That’s it?”

“Is that not enough? Should I raise the price?”

“No! I mean… just drachme? No stupidly dangerous errand? No murders? No thieving? Just… drachme?”

Xenia nodded sagely. “Just drachme.”

“Um… I don’t have that much with me.”

The pirate smirked at her. “A wise decision. It is not a sum one should carry around needlessly.”

Kassandra turned on her heel and walked away. It was a ridiculous sum the woman was asking for, one that would practically empty her coffers, but… Xenia knew her mater’s name.

All the way back to the ship her mind spun in circles. Should she pay? Or not? Did the pirate really have any information? Or not? 

In the end she decided to risk it. If the pirate really didn’t have anything worth the drachme, then she would just take it back. By force.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Most of the crew were sleeping when she returned, save for two who were keeping guard. Herodotus and Barnabas lay sleeping near the edge of the deck, her Captain miserably curled on his side, his eye now swollen shut. Kassandra wondered how much of the wine he had drunk to make him this sick, and hoped that her own mouthful wouldn’t be enough to set her stomach turning too.

Careful not to disturb the sleeping crew, she slipped down into the ship and set about packing up all the coin she had. 

15 000 drachme was a _heavy_ burden, made even heavier if one insisted on chests or barrels. She had no interest in dragging a chest up the mountain, so instead emptied several burlap sacks of apples, figs, and pomegranates, replacing the fruit with coin.

The resulting pile was still far too cumbersome and heavy for her to haul up to the temple in one go, and she did not trust the pirates to not do something stupid while she was running up and down the mountain to deliver bags of coin, so she woke up two of her strongest crewmen.

Together they hefted the bags over their shoulders and walked off the ship. They didn’t talk much on their trek to the temple, instead focusing on scowling and generally looking intimidating to any people they passed. The crewmen’s curiosity got the better of them though, and when there were no people nearby, they leaned in close and spoke in slow voices.

“What are you doing with all this coin?”

Kassandra gritted her teeth at how the strings of the heavy sack dug into her fingers. “I’m bartering with a pirate.”

“What for?”

“Information.”

“Oh… can information really be worth this much?”

“It better be.” She growled her last response, both to shut them up and as a warning to Xenia, even though the pirate wasn’t there to hear it. 

They were nearing the crest if the last hill and her hands ached more from the weight the closer she got to putting the bags down.

Xenia was still standing outside the temple, arms crossed and face inscrutable as they dumped the sacks at her feet.

Kassandra waved her crewmen away and massaged her aching fingers. “Here’s your malakas drachme. Tell me what you know.”

“I don’t see why you’re so angry. You didn’t have to do a ridiculous errand like you feared, and you clearly can afford the price, wealthy as you are.”

“ _Were._ I don’t have any of the wealth anymore, do I?”

Xenia regarded her for a moment, then turned away, waving at Kassandra to follow. She sat down at a table and poured them both cups of wine. “You look like her, you know.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know.”

Kassandra slammed her fist into the table, toppling the jug of wine onto the ground, shattering it. “ _Malaka!_ I’ll cut your head off and take it and the drachme back to the ship right now. I don’t need this shit.”

Xenia looked amused at the threat. “Did you get that temper from your pater? Your mater has far too much dignity to yell and curse and break things.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know. She left Keos not too long ago. The pirate life wasn’t for her anymore. She wanted something different.”

“Where?” Kassandra could hear her voice wavering, just on the edge of tears. She was always too late, she’d never find her mater like this.

“She took the Siren Song and sailed south east, in search of greater things. I haven’t heard from her since she left.”

“Great. So I’m back where I started. The name of a ship that could be anywhere by now.”

“Mmmm. Not quite. You know her as Myrrine, but she discarded that name long ago. SHe is Phoenix. Risen from the ashes of her old life.”

“Phoenix?”

“Mmhmm.”

“She really was a pirate?”

“Yes, she was. And very good at it too.”

“Why did she leave?”

“Much too interested in the politics of war. She wanted to get involved somehow.”

Kassandra stayed a while longer, listening to stories about her mater, trying to reconcile the woman she knew as a child with the fierce and ruthless pirate Xenia described.

  
  


She returned to the ship, thinking all that drachme had been worth it. Even if she didn’t know _where_ her mater was, for the first time she knew more of _who_ her mater was.

Kassandra laid on the deck of the Adrestia, staring up at the stars, her head swimming with the stories Xenia told and all her memories of her mater.

But when sleep overcame her, dragging her heavy eyes closed, she felt a tingle on her lips and heard the deep rumble of a moan in her ears. As she sank down into sleep, it was the couple in the alley she remembered, except the couple was her and Brasidas, and she was pulling to her bed by his hand.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, man… this chapter was such a pain to write. Not because of the chapter itself but because I struggled with a series of fantastically fun migraines while writing it. That does impact creativity and grit somewhat for me. I’m hoping the next chapter will be accompanied by less pain.
> 
> The poem at the beginning is by Sappho, an Ancient Greek poet from Lesbos. Her poetry is quoted in the game during the Medusa mission. The poem I’ve chosen for this chapter exists in many different versions, since how you choose to translate it changes it a bit. This version was translated by Mary Barnard. Mary made a mistake in her translation which I’ve left in. Sappho was a lesbian and most certainly was not writing poetry about men she loved. However… in this story, Kassandra is actually in love with a man, so I left the error in. But I couldn’t leave it in and not address it.
> 
> Generally, I find it hard to know a child’s rough age just by looking at them, and this video game isn’t exactly making that easier. I am also choosing to reject the official (?) age from the wiki that has Phoibe at about 12-14 years old during these events, because… well, because I want to. Instead I’m thinking that Phoibe is about 9 years old when they are in Korinth.
> 
> A kylix is a drinking vessel. You see them in action during the symposium scene in Odyssey. Kinda like a large shallow bowl with a short stem and small handles.
> 
> Xenia is the name of the pirate Queen, yes, but it’s also the Greek word for hospitality.
> 
> I’m really bad at maths. Like REALLY bad (I have a note from a doctor!) but I tried anyway… according to Wikipedia a drachme coin weighed about 4.3 grams, and so 15 000 of those would weigh 64.5 kilograms. That’s a whole person. (or 142 pounds in impractical units. thanks google!)  
> Do I think Kassandra can lift 64kg? Sure. Do I think she can gracefully carry it up a mountain? Whilst also potentially hounded by pirates who can hear the sweet song of jingling coins? No. Also, a burlap sack wouldn’t be able to handle the weight, I think?


	4. A Stranger

* * *

[ ](https://i.imgur.com/2bLQuaG.jpg)

There is a love I reminisce,  
like a seed I’ve never sown  
Of lips that I am yet to kiss,  
and eyes not met my own.  
Hands that wrap around my wrists,  
and arms that feel like home.  
I wonder how it is I miss  
these things I’ve never known.

\- Lang Leav 

* * *

_Kassandra_

  
  


The next morning found Barnabas sitting with his head in his hands, quietly moaning at the throbbing pain. “Bad wine. Terrible wine. _Malakas_ pirates.” His voice was thin and horace from his night of vomiting.

Herodotus had lit the braiser and was minding a _briki_ sitting in the flames with one hand while the other rubbed soothing circles over Barnabas’ back.

Kassandra sat opposite the two men and winced in sympathy with her poor Captain. She glanced at the at the _briki_ , her nostrils flaring slightly. “Coffee?”  
Her tone was skeptical since the air lacked the distinctive aroma of the beverage.

The old man shook his head and moved to swirl the liquid in the small pot. “Mint tea. For his stomach.” Barnabas burped loudly and clutched his head tighter with a moan. “And it might improve the smell as well.”

He poured a steaming cup and held it out. Barnabas shied away and shook his head. “I don’t want it. Leave me be to die in peace.”

Kassandra bit her lip to stop the laughter threatening to bubble up while Herodotus sighed. “You really should have something to soothe your stomach. At least eat some cabbage if you won’t have the tea.”

The historian held a cabbage leaf in front of his friend’s nose, but the Captain just jerked his head away and moaned.

“I could get you some wine? Good wine to cancel out the bad wine?”

Her suggestion was met with a growl, but then after a moment Barnabas reached out a hand and sighed in defeat. “Give me the tea.”

He clutched the cup in both hands, taking very small, careful sips between continued burping.

Kassandra grabbed the cabbage leaf from Herodotus and stuffed it in her mouth, grinning with a ‘ _What? He didn’t want it anyway._ ’ sort of expression when the man frowned lightly at her.

“You seem to be in a better mood.” She nodded, swallowing thickly around her mouthful. “The pirate had information for you?”

“Yes! She knew my mater. Knew her well. Told me some stories, how they met, their time pirating together. Herodotus, I’ve never felt this close before. My mater is _alive_ , and she left here not too long ago.”

“That is wonderful, Kassandra. Where did she go?”

Smile stiffening, she bit her lip and looked away. “I don’t know.”

The historian spoke carefully, kindly. “So… we are back to where we were in Korinthia?”

“Yeah… almost. Xenia gave me the name my mater uses now; Phoenix. She also said that when she left my mater was interested in the _politics of war_. So we have the name of the ship, the name of the woman, and that she’s interested in politics. I think we should head back to Athens. Periklies and Aspasia might know something, or know someone who does.”

She thought Herodotus would be pleased that she had a plan and pleased to have another chance to meet with Perikles and Aspasia, but instead he frowned, worried. “Are you sure you want to go back to Athens?”

She returned his frown with one of her own. “Yes, it’s the best place I can think of for finding out where my mater might be now. Unless you have some other idea of where to go?”

The man shook his head and Kassandra stood up. “To Athens, then. Though we should try to take some ships along the way. The coffers are _completely_ empty.”

* * *

_Brasidas_

Helios was barely lighting the horizon when he walked out of his tent, pack in one hand and provisions in the other.

“General Brasidas” The young man had dark circles under his eyes from a night without sleep. 

“Good morning, Callias.” His voice was still a bit thick and hoarse from sleep and he cleared his throat. “You are up early.”

“Yes, General. It’s… Good morning.”

Brasidas started tying his pack to the horse and tried to stifle a smile. “Callias. You will do very well. You are nervous now because this is very sudden and because you’ve not slept. Our mission here remains the same. Peacekeeping and maintaining friendly relations with the leaders and citizens. The Mongers is dead which will make it easier.”

He finished and mounted the horse, glancing at his Captain. The young man was clenching his jaw rhythmically. 

“Yes, sir. Thank you.” He shuffled his feet. “Do you have any advice before you go?”

Brasidas pondered that for a moment, there were many things he could say, platitudes, generic advice, but it didn’t seem appropriate. Calliaswas already very competent and didn’t need cliches to improve.

“Be careful with how you handle the hetaera. If you bed them, there’s risk included. Partly that they may assume to have your ear and ability to point your spear, on behalf of their other patrons or themselves. You also risk offending or angering the citizens who often confuse their minds and their members, and so believe the hetaera _loves_ them and will think you are a threat to that _love_. Best stay away if possible.”

It was not the kind of advice Callias had expected, he could tell. It was useful, though. Sparta usually didn’t care about diplomacy and it always caused unnecessary strife and friction with their allies. If he could get one other Spartan to consider the consequences of their actions outside the battlefield, he’d consider Sparta’s changes improved.

* * *

He rode eastward, facing Helios as it rose over Korinthia, bathing the open fields and flowers with light and color. The treacherous part of his mind, that sometimes still pulled out images of Kassandra and let her laughter and moans ring in his ears, told him that a blanket spread in the grass underneath a shielding tree would be a wonderful spot to wile away a day with the beautiful mercenary. He rode a little harder then, pushed himself and the horse until the open meadows gave way to dense forest. 

He stopped once he was deep enough to not see a single glimpse of flower strewn grass and broke for his midday meal. While the horse grazed on the shrubbery, Brasidas stretched his stiff, sore muscles before sitting down on a rock to eat some of the provisions he’d brought. 

His lower back ached already, though not at much as his backside, and even when resting he could feel his legs tremble slightly from exhaustion. Cursing himself for not training properly on horseback and becoming so soft and complacent during his stay in Korinthia, he ate quickly and spent the remaining time stretching and massaging his muscles while the horse rested.

The remainder of that day’s ride went through the forest. Thick leafy greenery on both sides of the trodden path never gave way to anything else, no settlements or real campsites, and no natural shelters or caves that he could see.

It was getting late and both he and the horse were tired. He debated if he should stop to make camp just off the road or press on a bit further. In the end he decided to ride up on the next ridge and look for a good spot from there.

As he crested the hill the trees opened up and showed the valley below. Fields upon fields of wheat waving in the fading light of the setting sun, and small farmhouses were dotted throughout the valley.

He had reached Arkadia.

* * *

He woke the next morning with the crowing of the rooster and suppressed a groan. His whole body was stiff and aching terribly from the full days ride. He had slept in the stable of the closest farm, wrapped in his red cloak, and now he pushed to his feet and brushed the fabric clean, teeth gritted against protesting muscles.

The farmer had welcomed him with open arms and offered him their bed inside the house, as well as all the food and drink he wanted. Brasidas had declined of course, not just because of the aching proof of his lethargic, pampered time in Korinth, but because of the stiffness behind those welcoming smiles.

This farmer and his family were used to soldiers, mercenaries, and bandits exploiting their vulnerability so close to the forest and the road, and Brasidas did not want to be counted among those who would threaten, hurt, or exploit their hosts.

So he waved away the offer of a warm bed, hot food, and pleasant but apprehensive conversation and made his bed in the stable with his horse. Still, the farmer had brought him a bowl of lentil stew and some wine, and thanked him for the protection his presence offered them.

Before Brasidas could set off again, the farmer stopped him with bread straight from the oven and another cup of wine. The bread was warm and still soft enough to almost not need dipping. He ate while watching the farmer’s son, a boy of maybe ten, feed the chickens and goats. He reminded Brasidas of his youngest nephew, a scrawny boy with knobbly knees and more bravery than sense, who had just entered the agoge.

There would be no agoge for this boy though, only the hard, thankless labor of the wheat fields. Though… the work might be hard and thankless, but the farmer and his family seemed happier together than any Brasidas had seen in Sparta.

He looked around at the golden fields of wheat swaying in the early morning breeze, at the chickens pecking happily at the ground, at the boy murmuring to the goats as he stroked their sides. It didn’t look like a bad life at all, really.

* * *

It was almost midmorning when he set off again. The farmer’s wife had packed him bread, cheese, and eggs to bring with him, which he had tried to refuse without success.

The first hour or so was agony for his sore muscles, but soon they loosened and he could relax his clenched jaw.

It was a beautiful day, clear blue skies giving the wheat a brilliant golden color. The people he passed looked mostly healthy and content, their strong arms cutting down long yellow stalks, tying them into sheaves, and piling them into stooks. Then later came the threshing and winnowing, and finally the grinding into flour.

Brasidas knew all of these steps and the words for them because of his friend, Lagos, the Archon of Arkadia. 

Lagos kept all of the Peleponnese fed through his fields, so they all owed him their lives, but Brasidas debt was higher, more direct.

In his youth, when Brasidas and his men were pinned down and the enemy just waiting for hunger to weaken them, Lagos - not yet Archon then - had managed to smuggle food to the starving soldiers, letting them hold out until reinforcements arrived.

If not for Lagos, Brasidas would be dead, and his men with him. That act of bravery and compassion had sparked a friendship between the two men that lasted still. 

He sorely wished he could allow himself a detour to visit his friend, but he knew he had indulged himself enough.

Instead, he rode on deeper into Arkadia and as the landscape rose higher, he left the waving fields and blue skies behind in exchange for rocky ground, thin pine trees, and gathering rain clouds. He was entering the foothills of Mount Psophis and the air got colder the further he rode. By the time he stopped for the night, he was miserable and cold, soaked from the light drizzle that had been falling for hours.

With cold-stiffend hands, he cut branches from nearby trees and made a lean-to shelter against a boulder. He managed to start a small fire with trembling hands, and sat close to dry his clothes and warm his numb feet.

Mumbling a prayer of thanks to the gods who set the generous farmer in his path, Brasidas ate from the packed food he’d been given. Their generosity spared him from having to hunt or forage for his dinner, or to sleep hungry. Now he’d had enough for lunch, dinner, and would have breakfast as well.

He lay curled near the banked fire in his small shelter, his sleep fitful and broken, every sound in the surrounding woods warning of a potential threat.

He woke early, still damp and cold, head throbbing and eyes heavy, when pale gray light only just began to dispel the deep darkness of night. Packing up, he set off long before Helios had actually crept above the horizon.

Riding higher into the cold mountains, he ate the eggs he had cooked in the hot embers overnight, trembling fingers picking off the white shell and flicking it to flutter away like snow. The ground around them was covered with frost and he stroked the neck of his horse in gratitude for the body heat the beast was sharing with him.

He sped up, riding faster to get through the freezing foothills quicker, and out from under the cold shadow of Mount Psophis. By midmorning the craggy, barren ground and dark pine had given way to leafy green trees and bushes, and he knew he’d left Arkadia behind and entered Elis. Helios was peering around the mountain with warm light and he made his first stop of the day.

* * *

A small stream flowed down from the mountain and he filled his sheepskins with fresh, cool water. He wandered aimlessly, stretching his legs while the horse drank and rested, and to his delight found a patch of blackberries. Pulling out a cloth from his pack, he filled it with plump, juicy berries.

He found a patch of warm sunlight and sat down to eat his bounty. As the sweet juices brust on his tongue, a thought came unbidden into his mind. 

_Kassandra would like these._

He felt an irrational urge to tuck some of the berries away to save them for her, and chided himself. Yes, Kassandra was compelling. A fierce and capable fighter, a keen intellect, and a radiant beauty, but they had only met twice and were unlikely to see each other again anytime soon, if ever.

Still, he would have liked to see her sitting in the sunlight, smiling at him, with lips and fingertips stained red with juice from the blackberries.

* * *

He rode on through endless stretches of uncultivated land where the vast grassy meadows were full of rocks and boulders. Knowing Olympia lay ahead, he pushed on until the city appeared on the horizon.

Stabeling his horse, he walked onto the central street just as the sun set, the light giving a golden hue to the marble stretched out before him.

He stopped only a moment to take in the impressive sight before he entered the large temple of Zeus.

He made his sacrifices and prayed for continued safe passage to Cyllene, for good fortune in the coming naval battles, for Sparta's success in their campaign against Athens, for the health and wellbeing of his syssitia, his parents, his sisters and their families. After only a short moment of hesitation, he prayed for Kassandra, for Myrinne, and even for the young Phoibe.

He was being unusually comprehensive, maybe even greedy, but how often did one pray in the grandest temple in all of Peloponnese? If ever any of the gods would hear him, it would be here.

Once finished, he found an inn and let a room where he could finally wash the dust, sweat, and grime from the past few days off his skin. He tasked a servant with washing his clothes, while he, dressed in his spares, went to take his evening meal at a nearby tavern.

It was good to sit and speak with other people for a while, and he tried to not miss his men back in Korinth or his syssitia in Sparta.

* * *

He slept well into the morning this time. Where his sleep had been fitful and interrupted the night before, now it had been deep and peaceful. He rose to wakefulness slowly, hovering between dream and reality.

Kassandra was sleeping on his chest, her cheek pressed to his skin, her hand resting on his stomach, her leg slung over his. He was stroking her hair with one hand, while the other rested atop hers on his belly. He could hear her soft breathing, feel the heat of her skin, smell her hair.

Then the dream dissipated like smoke and he was alone in the bed again. For a moment, he could feel the imprint of her against his abandoned skin, cold in the morning air, as if she had just slipped out of bed.

* * *

He took a little extra time in Olympia before moving on, visiting the arenas and beautiful temples, even standing a while before the olympic fire, lost in thought. 

Before leaving, he visited the temple of Hera and burned a sacrifice on her altar. His youngest sister, Hyptia, was pregnant with her first and he asked the Goddess for her protection of both mother and child.

Then his ride continued through the mostly unchanging landscape until evening when he reached Camp Alpheios just on the border of a dense forest.

The evening spent with the soldiers felt more comfortable than with the strangers in Olympia, but it made him miss Callias and his men even more.

To compensate for dawdling with sightseeing and prayer the day before, Brasidas set out early the next morning with a cheery wave and a warning of Huntresses in the forest beyond from the camp’s Captain.

The woods were dark, almost none of the early morning light filtering through the canopy, and he gave over most of the navigation to the horse, trusting it would not run them into danger or off a cliff.

Eventually, the forest opened up into a swamp, and beyond that lay the town of Cyllene, nestled by the coast.

He reached the camp by midday and dismounted, untying his pack to sling it over his shoulder. After the silence of the forest and swamp, the noise of shrieking gulls and crashing waves were almost deafening.

The guard who led him to Cnemus’ tent was subdued, his shoulders slumped. All through the camp hoplites were practising their javelin throws and not much else.

Cnemus greeted him with a humorless smile and a firm grip. “Welcome, General Brasidas. I trust the journey from Korinth was uneventful?”

“Yes, Commander, very uneventful indeed.” He’d met Cnemus a couple of times before, but only in passing and couldn’t yet gauge the man and how he would now handle the intrusion of _three_ additional Commanders in his camp, who had all been sent there to question and judge his decisions.

The man’s face remained neutral and unreadable as he gestured for Brasidas to follow him out into the camp for a tour.

“We are still waiting for Timocrates who is sailing here with two mercenary ships and should arrive in two or three days, and Lycophron who is coming down from Boeotia in a week or so. You arrived earlier than I thought, but it will give us more time to discuss strategy, I suppose.”

Brasidas nodded politely and inwardly cursed the missed opportunity to visit Lagos in Arkadia. 

Cnemus stopped their tour at the edge of the cliffs, waves crashing just below their feet. Brasidas looked out over the sea and tried to orient himself. He could see land in the distance, rocky hills enveloped in thin, hazy fog. “Is that Phokis?”

Cnemus snorted, voice full of contempt. “No, Phokis is beyond that island. _That_ is Kephallonia. An absolute shithole full of nothing but goats and rocks. Can’t grow anything, can’t build anything. The people are so useless even the Athenians can’t be bothered with them.”

The Commander walked away, but Brasidas lingered. Kephallonia. Kassandra’s island. She’d washed ashore there after Sparta had thrown her away. Close to twenty years on that island had shaped the woman she was now, more than any influence Myrrine, Nikolaos, or Sparta ever had.

Surely, the island couldn’t be all bad if it had given them Kassandra.

* * *

_Kassandra_

They were docked at the Port of Piraeus and Barnabas was standing on deck shouting a conversation with a man several paces away on shore when Kassandra emerged from the interior of the ship.

She’d had to elbow past almost the entire crew to get out, and they had all looked worried and uncomfortable.

Herodotus stood close by, arms crossed and face pinched in a frown.

“What’s going on?”

The historian didn’t have time to answer before Barnabas appeared at her side. “They don’t want us to dock because of the plague. Since we’re not carrying medicines or aid, we’ve been advised to just leave.

“Plague?! What plague?!” Kassandra was appalled, had she brought her crew from the dangerous waters around Keos right into an equally dangerous port?

Both men looked at her, confused and hesitant. “Yes. There’s a plague in Athens. We thought you knew. You spent hours here last time.”

Last time. She had dropped Phoibe off without really speaking to anyone, focused only on getting information about her mater. She hadn’t noticed… “Phoibe! Oh no! I have to get her out of here!”

Jumping ashore, she called over her shoulder. “Lay anchor out in the bay until I return!”

She ran through the streets, feet slapping on the stones, lungs and eyes burning.

She could see it now, all of it. The streets were empty, yes, of their usual crowds of people going to and fro, the background hum of their inane conversation silent now, but instead the streets were full of bodies, dead and rotting in piles, sick and laying in their own filth. The air was thick and hazy with smoke from funeral pyres, the smell of burning flesh, and the smoke felt oily as it clung to her hair and skin. Cries for help echoed through the narrow streets, the sound rising over the coughing of hundreds of people.

How had she missed this? How had she walked through this mirror of Tartarus without noticing? They had only been gone a few days, surely this couldn’t all have sprung up since then?

The narrow alley opened up into an open market square, now abandoned by its merchants and instead occupied by the dead and dying. In the middle of it all stood Hippocrates, and she rushed to his side. “Hippocrates! What happened here?” 

Her friend looked up, face tired, drawn, and full of grief. “I don’t know. This sickness ravages everyone without discrimination. Leaking pustules, raging fever, hacking cough, vomiting, diarrhea… It’s everything at once and I am powerless to stop it.”

She’d never heard him so defeated, so despairing. “Is there really nothing to be done?”

He shook his head and gestured to the burning pyres. “Burn the bodies, try to stop the spread, comfort the dying. Nothing else.”

“I’m so sorry, my friend.” She reached out to squeeze his shoulder in comfort.

“We don’t know how the disease spreads. You should avoid the sick.”

“But what about you? Are you not afraid of getting sick?”

He nodded and shrugged his shoulders. “I am, but what can I do but help what little I can?”

“I’m here for Phoibe, I can’t leave her here.”

“Then you should take her and any other friends with you. Leave Athens, Kassandra. Be safe away from here.”

* * *

She left Hippocrates and continued towards Perikles’ house, and for the second time spying a familiar face in the crowd. “Hey! Phoibe!”

The girl stopped and looked around. “Kassandra! You’re back! I can’t talk now, I have to run an _errand._ I’ll meet you back at Aspasia’s later!” She sounded far too giddy and excited about the situation, the pride of having an important task overshaddowing any danger around her.

Kassandra grabbed her wrist and held her back. “Phoibe! Why is Aspasia sending you out on errands in this chaos? I _told_ you not to let her put you in danger again.”

Phoibe gently tried to pull her wrist free, but Kassandra was not about to let her go. “It’s nothing dangerous. I’m just delivering a letter to her friend.”

Exasperated, Kassandra shook her head. “Not dangerous? There’s a _plague,_ Phoibe. Look around you.”

The girl was pulling harder now, trying to continue in the direction she’d been heading. “I _know_ that, Kassandra. But this is a really important letter and I _have_ to deliver it to Anastasios before it’s too late.”

Sighing, she allowed herself to be pulled along, but she did not let go of the small, bony wrist. “Fine. But I’m coming with you.”

She let Phoibe drag her through the streets until they reached the house of Anastasios. The wails and moans of the sick filled the air, almost masking the wholly different kinds of wails coming from inside the house.

Phoibe, oblivious of the danger ahead, ran forward, only to be janked back and into a side street. Kassandra clapped a hand over her mouth before the girl could protest. Crouching down, she spoke in a low whisper. “Shhh. There’s someone being tortured in that house. Stay here. Stay quiet. Stay _invisible._ ”

Phoibe nodded, her large round eyes filled with fear.

Kassandra moved cautiously towards the house, and the closer she got, the clearer the sounds from inside became. Screams and groans of pain, whimpers and prayers of fear, and a voice rising from calm to angry and back to calm again. Laughter. 

She peered through a window at the side of the house. Two cultist guards stood by the door, and slave lay dead in a pool of blood on the floor, and her brother - Deimos - was _playing_ with a second man.

Between laughing taunts and bellowed insults, Deimos was kicking the man around the room, dragging him over the floor, slamming him face first into the wall. It was strange and cruel. Deimos didn’t seem to be wanting any information, and wasn't asking any questions for the tortured man to answer even if he could. The man, who had fallen silent, was not conscious, maybe not even alive anymore.

As she stared in dumbstruck horror, Deimos dumped the limp body onto a _klinē_ and pulled out a knife.

Kassandra never saw what he did with it, because one of the guards called out. She had been spotted.

Climbing the low wall that surrounded the front garden, she moved to meet her opponents and caught one of them by surprise, slashing his neck open with her blade. He didn’t even flinch, didn’t falter, just raised his own sword and attacked.

Battling the two cultists, both much stronger than they had any right to be, she could only watch through the corner of her eye as Deimos sauntered out of the house and stood watching the fight for a moment, before walking away with a taunting smile.

The bleeding guard was losing strength and coordination, so she focused her efforts on the other one until he lay dead at her feet. The first guard mustered a last effort and slashed at her with a knife, but she caught it easily, dancing away from his hands while plunging the blade into the other side of his neck.

Phoibe’s scream pierced the air and Kassandra whipped around. Deimos was standing in the middle of the street, Phoibe held high by one hand while the girl struggled and cried.

“Deimos! Let her go!” The knife she had plunged into the guard flew towards her brother’s outstretched arm. He moved before it could sink into his flesh and only the thinnest of red lines marred his pale skin. He dropped the girl with a careless shrug, who screamed and then fell silent as her head hit the cobblestone.

Deimos delivered another taunting smile and walked away.

“Deimos!” Kassandra called at his retreating back while she ran to the crumpled girl on the ground. “Is this what you think politics is?! Hurting small children and torturing defenseless citizens?!”

He didn’t answer her, but his booming, carefree laughter rang out between the houses, and for just a moment, Kassandra was transported back to Sparta, to her childhood, and the sound of Nikolaos’ delighted laughter ringing through the rooms of the house.

They both sounded just the same.

Gathering the unconscious girl into her arms, Kassandra ran towards Perikles’ house as fast as she could without jostling her burden. 

Reaching the house proved challenging though. A large crowd was gathered outside and at the head of it stood Kleon, yammering about politics, the plague, the war, and other nonsense she couldn’t pretend to care about.

She muscled her way past and found a side entrance. As soon as she stepped inside, she raised her voice. “Aspasia!”

Moving further into the house in search of a _klinē_ to lay Phoibe down on, she continued to call out until the woman appeared.

“Kassandra! You’re back… Oh no, what happened?”

Laying the child down gently, she checked her injuries. The wrist Deimos had been holding was deformed and crooked, skin already a deep purple. A gash at the side of her head was bleeding copiously, the site already swelling up. A few thin, shallow scratches on her cheek. That was all Kassandra found, and she took a slow, calming breath and turned to their host.

She was startled before she could speak. Sokrates had ran into the house after her and now announced he would immediately fetch Hippocrates and disappeared out the door in a flutter of his himation, moving faster than Kassandra thought he could.

She turned back to Aspasia, still forcing herself to stay calm. “The Cult was waiting at the house you sent her to. Deimos killed the people inside and then tried to kill Phoibe.”

A servant appeared with a cloth in a bowl of water and Kassandra took it, wringing it out and began cleaning the wound. “Why did you send her there?” Her voice was tight with anger and fear. “Why did you send her anywhere at all? There’s a plague. The streets are full of sick, desperate, violent people. _Why_ do you keep sending her into danger?”

Aspasia was calm and her voice so understanding when she answered. “Perikles is sick. I can’t leave him here alone. I sent Phoibe to arrange a ship to take us out of Athens. It’s too dangerous for us to stay with Kleon whipping up the citizens to riot outside.”

The cloth was red now, soaked full of Phoibe’s blood and Kassandra pressed it to the cleaned wound to staunch the flow. The girl’s eyes fluttered briefly and a faint moan escaped her slack lips, but she didn’t wake up.

Hippocrates arrived, running into the room and pushing both women aside with firm hands, asking for space to work.

They stood a few steps away, watching as the doctor worked. He examined Phoibe thoroughly, lifting her eyelids, smelled her breath, palpated her stomach, pressed his ear to her chest, checked her arms and legs.

Once finished with the examination, he rinsed the head wound with diluted wine and quickly sutured it closed. Moving on to the broken wrist, he waved Kassandra over to hold the arm steady as he realigned the bones and wrapped them with a sturdy splint into a neat package, which he placed into a sling tied around the girl’s neck. The pain of realigning the bones had caused Phoibe to moan again, but she was still not waking up. 

Lastly, he wrapped up the swollen ankle Kassandra had missed during her own examination.

None of them spoke until he was finished and repacking his things. 

“Will she be ok?” It was Aspasia who asked, while Kassandra stood with her arms crossed and her jaw clenched.

Hippocrates nodded. “I believe so, but she needs rest. She should stay off her feet for several days, and her arm will need two moons to heal.”

Aspasia took the doctor’s hands in her own and thanked him, leading him further into the house. Kassandra stayed, staring at the pale unconscious Phoibe, while guilt and worry gnawed at her stomach.

Sokrates placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “We should move her to a bed. Make her more comfortable.”

With a jerky nod, Kassandra moved forward and together they lifted the small body and carried her through the house. They set her down on a soft sleep mat and Kassandra carefully tucked her in under a sheet. Then she stood, staring awkwardly until Sokrates led her away.

* * *

She sat in a chair, not really paying attention to what was going on around her until Aspasia and Hippocrates returned.

“...and I cannot thank you enough. He has been standing out there, refusing medicine and rest, and getting steadily worse, just so he can listen to Kleon’s speeches.”

“It’s no bother, really. Patients often think ignoring their illness will make them better. But he’s resting now.”

“Is it Perikles?” Sokrates, who had been sitting uncharacteristically quiet by her side, stood and walked over to their host and the healer. “Is he getting worse?”

They both shook their heads. “No, not worse, but not better. I have seen many affected much worse than he’s been, but it’s far too soon to tell if he will pull through. His symptoms could worsen suddenly.”

A servant brought a tray of food and wine. Hippocrates walked over and sat down, pushing a plate into her hands. “You must eat, Kassandra. This is not a good day to lose your wits to hunger.”

She took the plate and started eating mechanically. “Thank you for helping Phoibe. I know you are very busy.”

The healer bowed his head in acknowledgement. “I didn’t mind. To tell you the truth, it was nice to actually treat someone that will get better and heal, for a change.”

The food helped pull her out of her mind filled with guilt and dread, and she started to actually listen to the conversation around her.

“... I’m not sure what to do now. We must leave Athens, but I don’t see a way out that is not by ship.” Aspasia’s voice was worried and clipped, the stress clearly getting to her.

“I have a ship.” Three faces turned to look at her in surprise, as if they didn’t already know she sailed the Aegean. “I came to take Phoibe from here, but you can come too.” 

Aspasia’s expression melted into a relieved smile and she stood from her seat. “Thank you, Kassandra. We should leave quickly, I’ll fetch Perikles.”

Kassandra stood up too and turned to Hippocrates. “Can we move Phoibe to the ship without hurting her?”

He nodded. “Gently, yes. It will be safer for her away from Athens as well.”

The doctor told the servants to create a stretcher and was instructing them on how to safely transport the child when Aspasia came running into the room.

“He’s gone! Perikles is gone!” She was wringing her hands and looking around the room as if the man might be hiding in one of the corners. “He must have gone to the Parthenon to pray.”

With a heavy breath, Sokrates shook his head. “It is not safe for him outside. Kleon is riling up the crowd to call for his blood. We must go after him.”

Aspasia ran out the door and the two men started after her but stopped at Kassandra’s words. “I’ll meet you there after I move Phoibe to the ship.”

“Kassandra.” Hippocrates spoke in a careful voice. “Perikles is in danger and none of us are fighters. You need to help us defend him.”

“No, I _need_ to get Phoibe to safety. She shouldn’t even _be_ in Athens. _I’m_ the one who brought her here. She wanted to stay on the ship and I _insisted_ she come here instead.” Her voice was thickening with the tears beginning to burn in her eyes. If she left Phoibe to deal with Perikles, would she still be alive when she came back? Would Kleon’s mob storm the house and kill her? Would Deimos come back for her?

“I’ll take her.” Sokrates stepped forward and straightened his back a little. “Perikles needs your sword, and Hippocrates’ healing. I will stay with the girl and make sure she gets safely to the ship.”

He gestured to the servants who had stopped working on the stretcher when Aspasia entered, and they continued the work. “The people outside are not after me, of the girl. We will be alright. Now go. Save Perikles, and Athens.”

She hesitated. “If she dies…”

“Then you will take your anger and grief out on me, which gives me incentive to keep her safe.” Sokrates nodded at her, and Hippocrates pulled on her arm. With one last look at the unconscious girl, she ran out of the house towards Acropolis.

* * *

Hippocrates tried to keep up but she outpaced him easily. Not long after that, she ran past Aspasia too.

When she reached the Acropolis she found the area around the temple deserted and the doors closed. Usually there were guards and worshippers, but where were they now? Had the plague really driven everyone away? Shouldn’t it be the opposite? Crowds of people praying to their goddess for mercy, for help?

No, something was wrong and Kassandra was certain who in this city had the power to drive desperate worshippers from their temple.

Stalking over, she shoved the heavy doors to the Parthenon open, bellowing into the cavernous room. “Deimos!”

Her brother didn’t flinch at the sound, but stayed crouched on the ground, murmuring into Perikles’ ear.

“Let him go!”

But Deimos didn’t heed her, instead he turned his head to her slowly and smiled, his sword slicing open Perikles’ throat. His cultist guards advanced on her as Kassandra tried to rush to stop the murder.

Just like at Anastasios house, her brother stood for a moment, watching as she fought his guards. Then he walked away with a smirk on his face.

“Coward! Why don’t you face me yourself?”

Over the commotion of their fight, she could hear his sing-song voice taunting her. “It’s best you stay out of my way, Eagle-Bearer.”

These guards were stronger than the last two and it took her longer to dispatch them. Through the open door she spotted Hippocrates holding Anastasia back. As soon as the last guard fell to the floor, the woman ran up to Perikles, staring at the man lying by her feet. 

For just a moment, everything was quiet in the temple, then she spoke in a monotone. “All is lost now.” Then her voice became more animated. “We have to go. We’re not safe here.”

Aspasia strode away from the temple with Hippocrates at her elbow. Kassandra took a moment to look at the man laying on a floor. His blood was a dark, reflective pool in the light from the braisers and she felt like something significant had just happened, but she was not sure that it was Perikle’s death that was sending an icy shiver down her spine.

“Aniazo.” She bowed to Athen’s fallen leader before turning away and starting towards the Port of Piraeus, setting a punishing pace the other two barely kept up with.

She needed to get back to the Adrestia and make sure Phoibe and the crew were safe. She wouldn’t put it past Deimos to go there next, just to hurt her.

She was focused inward on her own thoughts, ignoring her companions completely, when she stopped in her tracks.

She had just heard Brasidas’ voice, she could have _sworn_ it. 

Turning in a circle, she carefully scanned the faces of the people around them but saw no one who might be her… friend. Why would he be in Athens? Were the Spartans infiltrating the city?

“What’s wrong?” Hippocrates’ voice was worried as it cut through to her. He too was looking around, scanning the crowds of people.

Kassandra shook herself and started walking again. “Nothing. I thought I heard… something. It was nothing.”

They were almost at the docks when it happened again. Not his voice, but his face this time. A man stood off to the side of the narrow street, and she had to do a double take. She could have sworn it was Brasidas standing there. In disguise, his clothes different, his beard shaved, but still _him,_ looking at her with those bright, keen, honey eyes.

But no, at second glance she saw that he looked nothing like the Spartan General. Hair and skin a bit darker, arms and legs thinner and less defined. Even the eyes were wrong. 

What _had_ she been thinking?

She allowed Hippocrates to pull her away without a word.

* * *

They rounded the last corner and saw the Adrestia ahead. Sokrates was coming to meet them and his face shifted from pleasure at their arrival but to solemn grief when he realized Perikles was not with them.

Kassandra reached him first, and didn’t have to ask before he answered. “She’s fine. Resting below deck with Herodotus. He turned to Aspasia. “My condolences. Perikles was a great man. Perhaps greater than we even knew.”

Aspasia gave him a tightlipped smile and bowed her head in acknowledgement, but continued towards the ship.

“Stop!” They all turned and saw a group of Athenian soldiers, weapons in hand. “Kleon has ordered that no one leaves Athens, and he wants Aspasia brought to him.”

“I’m not going!” The woman took a step back and glanced at Kassandra for help.

“We’re not _asking._ Come willingly or we kill your companions and drag you there by your feet.”

“Go, get on the ship. I’ll fight them off.” Her voice was low, only meant for her friends, but the Athenian Strategos heard her and laughed. “Oh, will you? How about we bring you along as well? My troops haven’t had much in the way of fun lately. I’m sure you’ll be a welcome distraction.”

Then the smirk froze on his face and he looked down in confusion at the javelin sticking out of his chest. Behind her, Kassandra’s crew came running up, jeering and taunting the remaining soldiers as they descended with overwhelming numbers.

Soon, the Athenians lay dead and naked on the ground, stripped of all their possessions by the crew before they returned to the ship.

Kassandra saw that Aspasia was already on board, sitting by the helm with Barnabas, but both Sokrates and Hippocrates still stood on the dock, waiting for her. “Come one. Lets go before more of Kleon’s men arrive.”

Both men shook their heads. “We are staying in Athens.” Hippocrates’ voice had that gentle quality again. “My work is here. I can’t leave the city in this state.”

“Neither can I. With Perikles gone it’s even more important to stay and stand up against Kleon.” Sokrates voice was proud and steady, with no trace of that feigned uncertain, questioning quality it usually had. He had shown a completely new side of himself in the last few hours, and Kassandra was glad to know there was a man with direction and action hidden beneath the surface.

She shook their hands goodbye and stepped onto the ship. As they cast off and pushed away from the dock, she called after them. “I expect to see you both again. _Alive!_ ”

They smiled at her and raised their hands to wave before disappearing down a side street and out of sight.

* * *

Kassandra glanced at Aspasia but decided to leave her with Barnabas, and instead disappeared below deck.

She found Phoibe tucked into her own bedrolls, Herodotus sitting on a stool by her side. “How is she?”

“Kassandra.” He rose and stood next to her and spoke in a low voice. “She’s as well as can be expected. The wound is no longer bleeding, she doesn’t have a fever, and though she’s not yet awake, she seems closer to waking. Moving, mumbling, changes in breathing.”

“That’s good to hear.” She crouched down and stroked Phoibe’s hair. “Will you stay with her a bit longer? I need to speak to our other guest.”

“Of course.” He sat down again and Kassandra returned upstairs to talk to Aspasia.

The woman was standing alone at the helm, staring back at the lights of Athens. “It seems so calm and quiet from afar. No one could tell the turmoil inside.”

“I’m sorry, Aspasia. For Perikles, for Athens. I should have…”

She was interrupted, Aspasia’s voice strong and confident. “You have nothing to apologize for, Kassandra. _Nothing._ The Cult of Kosmos had a plan for Athens that we didn’t see until it was too late. It is not your fault.”

She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists. “I will demolish them. Each Cultist will beg for mercy when I kill them for what they’ve done.”

Aspasia looked at her in silence for a moment, her expression unreadable. “That time will come, now though we need to plan the next step. Do you have a heading in mind?”

Kassandra released her jaw and fists. With the chaos within Athens, she had completely forgotten why she had completely forgotten why she had to come to the city in the first place. “I had actually hoped you would be able to help me with that. That’s why I came. The woman I’m looking for, she goes by Phoenix. I’m told she sailed away from Keos not too long ago on a ship called Siren Song.”

Aspasia nodded slowly. “Yes, Phoenix. I have heard that name. My information may be out of date, but last I heard, she was on Naxos.”

“Naxos…” Kassandra hadn’t been there, but she thought it was near Mykonos, placing it several days away.

She left Aspasia at the helm and went to inform Barnabas of their heading, before disappearing below deck again.

* * *

The young girl was awake and vomiting when Kassandra returned to her side. Herodotus was helping her empty her stomach into a bowl and murmuring in a soft, soothing tone.

Phoibe looked up when she knelt on the bedroll. Her face pale and clammy, eyes red and glazed. “Kassandra? What’s going on? I was in Korinth… waiting for you… I think.” She threw up again and moaned pitifully. “Everything hurts…”

Kassandra wiped the girl’s forehead with a damp cloth and stroked her hair. “It’s ok, Phoibe, you’re ok. You fell and hit your head. Just rest now, you’ll feel better.”

She stripped off her armor and laid down, pulling the girl to rest the uninjured side of her head on her chest. “Just go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Herodotus left them and Kassandra laid awake in the dark, stroking Phoibe’s shoulder and listening to her steady breaths.

It had been an unreasonably long day and her head swam with everything she’d experienced. Athens was being ravaged by a horrific plague, Kleon had taken over soldiers and citizens, trying to stir up a riot within the already beleaguered walls, Perikles was dead, and Deimos… There was something _wrong_ with her brother. Very wrong. But each time he had a chance to fight her, to take her out, he’d chosen to walk away instead. Why?

She was so tired, but still sleep eluded her. There was one thought in her mind that she was avoiding, one that wouldn’t let her sleep.

Brasidas.

She could admit to herself, at least, that she was very taken with the Spartan General, maybe even in love. It was not an emotion she was a stranger to, she knew that the object of her affection had a habit of intruding on her thoughts in ridiculous and frivolous ways. She’d ponder what food he liked or what he looked like when he was asleep. She’d wish he was standing next to her as she watched Helios rise, or wish he was laying in her bed. All silly and pointless pining for a man she might never see again.

But today. Today had been different. She hadn’t thought about how easy it would have been to deal with the cultist soldiers if he’d been fighting by her side, or wished he’d been there to escort Phoibe to safety. She hadn’t even spared a thought to wonder if he was outside in the siege camps.

No, she had _heard his voice._ She _knew_ she’d heard it. And she’d seen his face, his eyes looking at her from a stranger’s face.

This didn’t feel like infatuation, it felt like… Maybe it was the sinister, dystopian feel still lingering from Athens, but… She’d heard of people visiting their loved ones on the way to Hades. Of people having visions, hearing voices, being visited in dreams by people whom they would only later learn were already dead.

Was Brasidas dead? Had he come amidst the chaos of Athens only for Kassandra to not have time to spare him a thought?

She shivered with fear and an unnatural chill, and pulled Phoibe tighter against her side. She didn’t want to fall asleep and risk finding Brasidas in her dream, solemn and stoic and saying goodbye.

* * *

_Brasidas_

Brasidas scrubbed his hands over his face and suppressed a scowl. Cnemus was all but holding court, voice booming in the tent as he explained to the troops how they had actually won the battle against the Athenians, twisting the events of the battle to sound like a victory when it was - at best - a draw.

He deliberately refrained from drinking any more wine and tried to push both the booming voice and the memories of the battle out of his head, failing miserably.

In the beginning, it had been going so well. They’d come up with a good strategy that would give them a victory. Pretending to retreat into the Gulf of Korinthia, they had gotten the Athenians to not just follow, but to try to get ahead of them. Twenty blue-sailed ships hand lined up, single file, rowers working hard to get them past the seventy-seven Spartan ships to cut off their escape.

Then, just as planned, they had turned straight towards the Athenians and attacked. They actually managed to capture almost half of the enemy ships while not losing a single of their own, which sounded good in Cnemus speech, but they had _seventy-seven_ ships, and only managed to capture _nine_ Athenian vessels.

Brasidas sighed and bounced his leg, wishing he could leave.

If only that had been it. Nine captured ships _was_ a victory, even if it was only a small one. But no, of course that hadn’t been the end.

There were still eleven enemy ships left and they were _fleeing_ from them. Surely capturing them as well wouldn’t be too difficult? So they pursued, their troops jeering, taunting, hollering at the Athenians.

Timocrates had been on their fastest ship, hunting the Athenians all the way back to their port in Phokis. _Except_ … one ship had lagged behind while the other ten found safety. With the customary, pointless, stupid, fucking _Spartan_ hubris, they had assumed the lone ship was already won.

Brasidas hadn’t had any way to communicate with Timocrates, to tell him to slow down and think, to remember what they were all supposed to already know. 

_Cornered animals attack._

And even more importantly; _Sacrificing one to save many_. 

It was one of the most _rudimentary_ of tactics.

So. The lone Athenian ship which had been retreating - or so they thought - suddenly turned around and attacked Timocrates’ ship, damaging so gravely it began to sink.

Brasidas had been close enough by then to see Timocrates standing on the flooded deck, face a mask of stone as he drew his knife across his own throat and falling into the waves.

Brasidas had ordered his own ship to get closer, to attack, but it had been hopeless. Seventy-six ships full of reckless, hubris-driven, useless _boys_ , and those malakas had _panicked_ at the sight of one single sunken ship, scattering like startled birds. 

No one seemed to think attacking might be prudent, or at least to move into a defensive formation.

No. Instead, running aground seemed to be a popular strategy. 

Of course, the remaining ten Athenian ships hadn’t stayed in port. Of course not. They’d attacked while their enemy panicked, and captured six Spartan ships.

Not a big loss, according to Cnemus. Six out of seventy-six wasn’t anything for the Athenians to brag about. Brasidas might have been inclined to agree, if they hadn’t also managed to recover the nine ships they’d lost earlier.

He wished he had a wall to bang his head against. They had lost seven ships, one of their Generals, several more ships were stuck aground waiting to be salvaged, and every single ship they’d taken from the Athenians had been recovered.

Brasidas didn’t know how Cnemus could stand there and pretend they had won. If they returned to Sparta now, all three of them would be executed.

He suspected Lycophron agreed with him, because the younger General slammed his fist against the table, making Cnemus pause and look over. 

“That’s enough. It’s late and we need to be ready for tomorrow. Everyone go get some sleep.”

Cnemus frowned and the slight, looking at Brasidas for support, but received only a stern shake of the head.

* * *

He laid down to sleep, cheeks still burning with shame, and - like he had every other night - thought about Kassandra.

Part of him was glad she hadn’t been there to witness his humiliation, and he hoped she would _never_ find out.

The rest of him vehemently wished she was there with him. Not just for the weak, private reasons he kept tucked in the back of his mind, but because he was sure they wouldn’t have lost if she’d been there.

Kassandra wouldn’t have panicked. She wouldn’t have fallen for the _exact same rouse_ they themselves _just_ used on the Athenians. And she definitely wouldn’t have let the enemy get away without sinking at least a few of their ships first.

Lycophron had passed through Megaris on his way to Cyllene and brought with him stories of the Misthios who had single handedly broken the Athenian blockade, who had joined the Wolf of Sparta and his garrison in battle against Athens, who had fought like a vengeful goddess, impressing absolutely everyone.

A Misthios who had impressed so thoroughly she had been given a private audience with the Wolf himself.

After which the Wolf had vanished without a trace.

There was no consensus regarding what had happened to him. Some thought the Misthios had killed him, others thought he had killed himself in shame at being outshone by a lowly _mercenary._ Some thought he had deserted, left Sparta to begin a sordid love affair with the beautiful Misthios.

Lycophron didn’t believe any of those theories. _He_ thought the Wolf had returned to Sparta to get ahead of any rumours and set the record straight about just who had won a decisive victory in Megaris, and it wasn’t some lowly _mercenary._

Brasidas knew the Wolf hadn’t defected to run off with his _daughter_ , and he was almost entirely sure he hadn’t been killed. Kassandra had spoken of him in terms of being alive, nothing else. If she had been lying then, carefully choosing her words to make sure he wouldn’t suspect her hand in the Wolf’s death, then… then she was _nothing_ like he thought she was, and he didn’t believe that. Didn’t want to believe it.

He fell asleep thinking about Kassandra, wondering where she was and if she was ok, and wishing she was right there with him, pressed against his side, head resting on his chest.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kassandra’s and Brasidas’ storylines don’t really align, time wise. It’s all just some of the stuff that happened while they were apart.
> 
> A Briki is the Greek word for a Cezve; a small long-handled pot with a pouring lip. I dunno, seems like the kind of thing Herodotus would have.
> 
> Mint was a household staple for treating lots of stuff, among them were nausea which is good for a hangover. Also, they apparently... *squints suspiciously at google* ...thought cabbage was the antithesis of grapes, so eating raw cabbage would counteract the wine (grapes) in your stomach that were making you sick. Also, Hippocrates thought you should drink more wine if you had a hangover. 
> 
> The horse riding. I don’t know anything about horses beyond that I can probably identify one by sight, and I know that they are mammals. Because I know they are mammals, I know they can’t actually go nonstop at full sprint for as long as the rider wants like they can in the game. I checked google maps and the distance Brasidas needs to travel from Korinth to Cyllene is roughly 200 kilometers. (the game thinks it’s about 5000 meter = 5 kilometers. *squints at Ubisoft*)  
> According to google maps, a human can walk that distance in about 1 day 14 hours. Google maps are lying. Humans are mammals. Like horses! We need rest and sleep and food and potty breaks, and also our feet start to hurt after a while.  
> I tried to figure out how fast an average horse could traverse that distance (believably and without falling down dead at the end), but google maps doesn’t have that option and google search gave wildly differing answers. Everywhere from “almost the full distance in one day” to “eh, about two weeks”. Sooo unhelpful.  
> I decided to let it take about five days (‘cause there are mountains and stuff). All that googling and I still have no idea if that’s reasonable, or if the horse is going to die, or if Brasidas is going to be accused of desertion because he took so long to report in.
> 
> The Plague of Athens started in the Port of Piraeus so both Kassandra and Barnabas were very lucky to not have caught it when they visited last chapter, and Kassandra was very oblivious for not noticing something was very very wrong. They were all also very lucky for not catching the plague this time either. Especially Hippocrates and Phoibe. Just a PSA in case you didn’t know… it’s a stupendously bad idea to go from dealing plague victims to treating open bleeding wounds, head injuries, and broken bones without some serious decontamination procedures between. But they’re all from the fictional past and didn’t know that.  
> Also… Yay! Phoibe lives! *happy dance* Suck it, Ubisoft!
> 
> A klinē is a kind of high sofa thing. They were more about laying down than sitting though. You see them all over the game inside the houses.
> 
> During their walk through Athens, Kassandra is first distracted by General Demosthenes who’s voiced by the same actor as Brasidas because hihi, and also… I kinda need to get our General Spartan McHottie in there somehow, right? Then she’s distracted again at the port by a guy who kinda looks like Brasidas. There’s a quest giver at that port who’s using the Brasidas’ character model but with different clothes and coloring, and he made me do a double take when I first saw him, so I figured Kassandra would react too. 
> 
> Cnemus was a real naval commander and Sparta really did send Brasidas and two others to “assist” him when he’d lost too many naval battles. Basically, Sparta were shiiit at boat stuff, and Athenians were really good at it so they won despite Sparta’s superior numbers, and that did not sit well with the Spartan leadership because Sparta is The Best At Fighting so… they threw more Commanders (seemingly without water fighting experience) at the problem.  
> Now, I tried to read up on it a bit so I could get some realism in this story, like locations and battle details and such but I’m still a bit confused and probably messed up stuff. But as my dear (and very patient) friends tell me, it’s fiction and I get to change whatever I like, so they’re not mistakes (or happy little accidents), they are deliberate changes to fit my fictional narrative.  
> But… Brasidas, Timocrates, and Lycophron really were sent to Cyllene which really was on the west coast of Elis near Kephallonia(!), to prepare for a battle in the water between what we in game know as Phokis and Achia. And, yes, Sparta really were that hilariously bad in that battle (and that guy really did kill himself in shame).


End file.
